


Right Here Waiting

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fic, First Kiss, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>El looked up from the card. "Honey, is meeting your parents a code for something?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Here Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravelqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ravelqueen).



Monday morning, Peter was doing the crossword over breakfast when someone knocked on the front door. El answered it and came back with her arms full of delicately colored orchids. "Neal sent me flowers again."

She sounded pleased and a little wistful.

Peter checked the date on the newspaper. "It's not our anniversary. Did I forget something?"

"Relax, honey. It's not an occasion." El got a vase from the kitchen and arranged the orchids on the sideboard, then sat down with the accompanying card. "I wonder where he is."

Peter forced himself to be patient, not to snatch the card out of her hands and scrutinize it for clues. It was for El—the cards and flowers were always for El—and there were never clues. When the anklet came off late last summer, Neal had hung around for a few weeks. It had seemed like every time Peter turned around, he was right there, helping with cases as if nothing had changed, watching Peter like he was waiting for something—until one day he wasn't. There'd been no goodbyes, nothing but an unmarked cellphone in a plain padded envelope delivered via Mozzie, "For emergencies." Now it was early spring, nearly eight months later. It had been a long winter.

El looked up from the card. "Honey, is meeting your parents a code for something?"

"Not that I know of," said Peter. He took the card from her outstretched hand and read the short message inside, ignoring the twist in his gut at the sight of Neal's neat black lettering. Then he read it again. "He talked to my parents?"

He nearly knocked his chair over in his hurry to get to the phone and was already dialing his mom and dad when El replied, "That's what it says. You know what that means?"

"It means he's upstate—or he has been," said Peter, just as his father picked up. "Hi, Dad. How are you?"

"Peter, we were going to call you last night, but we didn't get home till late. We're good. Your mom and I ran into a friend of yours at the supermarket yesterday—Neal Caffrey. Wasn't he the consultant you were working with? Seems like a nice guy. He asked us to pass on his regards to you and Elizabeth."

"At the supermarket?" repeated Peter, bewildered. Was Neal stalking his parents? And if so, what on earth for? El raised her eyebrows, shaking her head in bemusement—whether at Neal or himself, Peter couldn't tell.

"In the cereal aisle," said Peter's father, cheerfully. "He introduced himself, and then he made fun of me for buying Sugar-Os at my age. 'Just like your son,' he said."

"Be glad he didn't help himself to the free toy," said Peter.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Peter changed the subject, asking after his mom and catching up on family news.

When he hung up, El looked up from her day planner with a hopeful expression. "Time to send up the bat signal?"

"Maybe," said Peter. It was possible Neal had just been passing through, but then why send a message via Peter's parents, of all people? And if he was upstate, surely he'd visit the city too.

Peter went upstairs and fished the emergency cellphone out of the back of his sock drawer. He took it downstairs and plugged it in to charge, and then he sat down to finish his breakfast and think about what to say to Neal after all these months. What he could tell him that would make him abandon his foreign adventures and come back for good.

Before he got the chance, the emergency phone rang. El was closest, and she pounced on it at once and answered without unplugging it, before Peter could grab it off her. "Neal?" she said.

"Mind if I let myself in?" said his voice from the living room. They both turned, and El dropped the phone and threw her arms around him where he stood, with a coat over one arm.

"You're here," she said.

Peter hung back, drinking in the sight of him. He was lean and casually dressed in slacks and a dark red shirt. His hair was a little longer, curling at his collar, but most startling was his neatly trimmed beard, which gave him an older, slightly piratical air. He pressed his cheek to the top of El's head, eyes shut, then looked over her shoulder at Peter. "Miss me?"

In reply, Peter surrendered to instinct and need, and moved to hug him the second El relinquished her claim. He wrapped his arms around him and felt the answering pressure of Neal's hug, tight and warm, with the coat bunched up carelessly against the small of Peter's back. Neal's beard was a little scratchy against his jaw, and Peter's breath caught. All this time apart. He'd almost forgotten how deeply Neal affected him, just with his presence. Peter had glossed over his absence, buried the sadness and carried on, day by day—he _and_ El; after the first few months of late night talks, they'd both just kept going—not knowing if Neal would ever come back, nor what he'd want if he did. Now he was here, it didn't seem real.

Peter slid his hand to cup the back of Neal's neck and breathed in the fresh, subtle scent of him. Neal sighed and leaned into him. He didn't seem in a hurry to free himself, but after a few more moments, self-consciousness got the better of Peter and he reluctantly released him. He couldn't bear to let him go completely, though, so he left one hand on Neal's shoulder, hoping it would seem companionable rather than needy.

"You stalked my parents," he said, the words coming out gruffer than he intended. "Why?"

Neal slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged, his gaze flicking to Elizabeth and back to Peter. "I was curious. And I only talked to them once—that doesn't count as stalking."

El took his coat and threw it at the armchair, then pulled Neal over to the table. "Sit down. You want some coffee? I like the beard—it suits you."

Neal kissed her cheek and took the offered place at the head of the table where Peter had been sitting. "Thanks, Elizabeth."

"Where have you been?" asked Peter, and then winced. Everything he said sounded like an interrogation, like he didn't trust Neal. That wasn't what he meant.

But Neal didn't seem to notice. "Europe, mostly. It was cold, and—" He shrugged, his mouth twisting wryly. "It's less fun when you can't help yourself to whatever takes your fancy."

Peter sat down next to him and leaned his elbows on the table, studying him. "Good to stretch your legs, though."

"Yeah," said Neal, sounding unconvinced. He looked down at the coffee cup El had placed in front of him. "But too much time alone."

"I thought Mozzie visited you," said El, taking the seat on his other side.

"He did, but—" Neal looked her right in the eye. "—it wasn't the same."

He said it quickly, like he was making himself confess to something shameful, but El just smiled, the corners of her mouth turning down. "It's really good to see you. It's been too long."

She squeezed his hand, and he turned it so they were palm to palm, and Peter couldn't look away from that: their hands, clasped on the plain ordinary dining table, next to the sugar bowl and his half-finished crossword. An old conviction surfaced—that Neal was in love with El and had left because she was married—and Peter wondered again, as he'd lain awake wondering for many nights in the past, whether he could bear to share her with Neal, if that was what they both wanted. Whether he could stand to be on the outside.

It might be worth it, if it kept Neal here within reach. "Neal—"

"Anyway, I couldn't come back until I'd stopped being mad at Peter." Neal drank a mouthful of coffee, apparently oblivious to the effect this had on his audience.

Peter opened his mouth to object, automatically defensive, and El's eyes widened. She gave Peter a quick shake of her head, and said, "What did Peter do?"

"He let me go," said Neal, putting down his coffee cup. "I was mad at you too, for letting him do it, but that didn't last as long."

"Oh, sweetheart," said El, the endearment slipping out as if she'd always called him that. She tilted her head. "You must know we didn't want to."

"I had no right to keep you," said Peter. "You didn't say goodbye."

Neal waved that aside. "You could have asked."

 _I was afraid you'd say no,_ thought Peter, but the words stuck in his throat.

After a pause, Neal continued. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now." He raised his chin and looked Peter right in the eye, and Peter felt exposed and elated, as if Neal could see everything he couldn't say. They'd promised that once: no more secrets. "You didn't answer my question before," said Neal, quiet and serious.

Peter cleared his throat. "What question?"

Neal, still holding El's hand and Peter's gaze, leaned across so they were elbow to elbow. "Did you miss me?" And it was there, it was right there: love and want. Not just for El, but for him too.

Peter's heart started banging against his ribcage like it was trying to escape, and he flushed hot all over, but it was a challenge he wouldn't back down from, this time. A chance to tell the truth.

"Every day," he said, and he bent forward and kissed Neal, the soft-rough scratch of beard against his lips. It was the first time he'd kissed a man, and the first time in well over fifteen years that he'd kissed anyone but El. But it didn't feel wrong or weird, and Neal didn't lurch back or laugh at him, or any of the terrible things that could have happened. El didn't change her mind and say, "No, I know we talked about it, but I made a mistake. I can't let you do this."

There was only Neal's lips against his, tentative then sure, answering his kiss and parting to let him in, making dark colors flare in Peter's chest and oh, thank God, El taking Peter's hand, making it okay.

Peter pulled back slowly, blinking. Neal's eyes were bright, his body tense as if he still wasn't sure how it would turn out. As if he wouldn't let himself believe.

"Both of us?" asked Peter, sure now what the answer would be. Neal's feelings for El had never been in doubt.

"Both of you," said Neal, glancing at El and back. "Always." He bit his lip.

Peter touched his dear face, strange and familiar and finally home. "Stay," he said.

"Yes," said El. "Stay."

END


End file.
